"No reason?"
"No reason beyond the workings of pure chance."
I thought about this. "Do they not think that there is good and bad? And that one deserves to be emulated and the other not, but rather punished?"
"A very small number would say that there are no such entities. Most agree there are, but that they only exist in our minds. The world itself, without us, does not recognise such things, just because they are not things, they are ideas, and the world contained no ideas until people came along."
"So they believe that Man was not created with the world?"
"That's right. Or at least not people with wits."
"Are they then Seigenists? Do they believe that the Lesser Sun created us?"
"Some would say it did. They would claim that people were once no more than animals and that we too used to fall asleep promptly when Xamis set, and rise when it rose. Some believe that all we are is light, that the light of Xamis holds the world together like an idea, like a hugely complicated dream, and the light of Seigen is the very expression of us as thinking beings."
I tried to comprehend this curious concept, and was just starting to decide that it was not so different from normal beliefs when the Doctor asked suddenly, "What do you believe in, Oelph?"
Her face, turned to me, was the colour of the soft, tawny dusk. Seigen-light caught fallen wisps of her half-curled red hair.
"What? Why, what all other civil people believe, mistress," I said, before thinking that perhaps she, coming from Drezen where they obviously had some odd ideas, might believe something quite different. "That is to say, what people hereabouts, that is in Haspidus…"
"Yes, but what do you personally believe?"
I frowned at her, an expression such a graceful, gentle face did not deserve to have directed at it. Did the Doctor really imagine that everybody went around believing different things? One believed what one was told to believe,
what it made sense to believe. Unless one was a foreigner, of course, or a philosopher. "I believe in Providence, mistress."
"But when you say Providence, do you really mean god?"
"No, mistress. I don't believe in any of the old gods. No one does any more. No one of sense, at any rate. Providence is the rule of laws, mistress," I said.
I was trying not to insult her by sounding as though I was talking to a child. I had experienced aspects of the Doctor's naïveté before, and ascribed it to simple ignorance of the manner in which matters were organised in what was to her a foreign land, but even after the best part of a year it appeared there were still subjects that each of us assumed we viewed in a mutual light and from a similar perspective which in fact we saw quite differently. "The laws of Nature determine the ordering of the physical world and the laws of Man determine the ordering of society, mistress."
"Hmm," she said, with an expression that might have been simply thoughtful or tinged with scepticism.
"One set of laws grows out of the other as do plants from the common clay," I added, remembering something I'd been taught in Natural Philosophy (my determined and strenuous endeavours to take in absolutely nothing of what I had regarded as entirely the most irrelevant part of my schooling had patently not met with total success).
"Which is not so dissimilar to the light of Xamis ordering the major part of the world, and that of Seigen illuminating the human," she mused, staring towards the sunset again.
"I suppose not, mistress," I agreed, struggling to follow.
"Ha," she said. "All very interesting."
"Yes, mistress," I said, dutifully.
Adlain: Duke Walen. A pleasure, as ever. Welcome to my humble tent. Please.
Walen: Adlain.
A: Some wine? What about food? Have you eaten?
W: A glass, thank you.
A: Wine. I'll take some too. Thank you, Epline. So, you are well?
W: Well enough. You?
A: Fine.
W: I wonder, could you…?
A: What, Epline? Yes, of course. Epline, would you…? I'll call… Now then, Walen?… There is nobody else here.
W: Hmm. Very well. This doctor. Vosill.
A: Still her, eh, dear Duke? This is becoming an obsession. Do you really find her that interesting? Perhaps you ought to tell her. She may prefer older men.
W: Mocking the wisdom that comes with age is a fit sport only for those who expect never to attain much of it themselves, Adlain. You know the substance of my complaint.
A: I regret I don't, Duke.
W: But you have told me of your own doubts. Did you not have her writing checked in case it was a code or something similar?
A: I thought about it. I decided not to, directly.
W: Well, perhaps you should, directly. She is a witch. Or a spy. One of the two.
A: I see. And what strange old gods or other demons do you think she serves? Or which master?
W: I do not know. We will not know, unless we put her to the question.
A: Ah-ha. Would you like to see that happen?
W: I know it is unlikely while she retains the King's favour, though that might not last for ever. In any event, there are ways. She might simply disappear and be questioned… informally, as it were.
A: Nolieti?
W: I have… not discussed this with him as such, but I have already ascertained most reliably that he would be more than happy to oblige. He suspects strongly that she released through death one of those he was questioning.
A: Yes, he mentioned that to me.
W: Did you think to do anything?
A: I told him he should be more careful.
W: Hmm. At any rate, she might be discovered in such a manner, though that would be somewhat risky, and she would have to be killed thereafter anyway. Working to force her from the King's favour might take longer and could, pressing the matter as one may have to, entail risks which were hardly less than those attached to the former course of action.
A: Obviously you have given the matter considerable thought.
W: Of course. But if she was to be taken, without the King's knowledge, the help of the guard commander might be crucial.
A: It might, mightn't-it?
W: So? Would you help?
A: In what way?
W: Provide the men, perhaps?
A: I think not. We might have one lot of the palace guard fighting their fellows, and that would never do.
W: Well then, otherwise?
A: Otherwise?
W: Damn it, man! You know what I must mean!
A: Blind eyes? Gaps in rosters? That sort of thing?
W: Yes, that.
A: Sins of omission rather than commission.
W: Expressed however you wish. It is the acts, or lack of them I would know about.
A: Then, perhaps.
W: No more? Merely, "perhaps'?
A: Were you thinking of doing this in close proximity to the present, dear Duke?
W: Perhaps.
A: Ha. Now, you see, unless you-
W: I don't mean today, or tomorrow. I am looking for an understanding that should it become necessary, such a plan might be put into effect with as little delay as possible.
A: Then, if I was convinced of the urgency of the cause, it might.
W: Good. That is better. At last. Providence, you are the most-
A: But I would have to believe that the safety of the monarch was threatened. Doctor Vosill is a personal appointee of the King. To move against her might be seen as moving against our beloved Quience himself. His health is in her hands, perhaps as much as it is in mine. I do my modest best to keep at bay assassins and others who might wish the King ill, while she combats the illnesses that come from within.
W: Yes, yes, I know. She is close. He depends on her. It is already too late to act before her influence achieves its zenith. We might only work to hasten the descent. But by then it might be too late.
A: You think that she means to kill the King? Or influence him? Or does she merely spy, reporting to another power?
W: Her brief might include all of those, depending.
A: Or none.
W: You seem less concerned in this than I imagined, Adlain. She has come from the ends of the world, entered the city barely two years ago, doctored to one merchant and one noble — both briefly — and then suddenly she's closer to our King than anybody else! Providence, a wife would spend less time with him!